


It's Not a Wake-Up Call (the Facetime Remix)

by nextraordinaire



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire
Summary: Erik surprises Moira with a video call.





	It's Not a Wake-Up Call (the Facetime Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).
  * Inspired by [First the Ring (And Then You Wake Up)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/588851) by [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/pseuds/Unforgotten). 



By the time she’d run her five miles, the rain had petered out to a light drizzle cold enough to make her shiver. So, it was a matter of running up the stairs as well, into a blessedly hot shower. For better or worse, running was the last resort when the frustration was building up to unmanageable levels, even if the shower afterwards – which let her thoughts spin loose like a windmill – was directly counterproductive.

Mr. McCoy wasn’t a bad person, but he wasn’t a good teacher. He often overrated his students, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she knew she could teach herself by staring herself blind at the textbook, Moira didn’t know how in the world she’d managed to pass his tests.

Today, she’d spent over eight hours cramming, until it felt like her brain was pouring out of her ears.

Because of that, there hadn’t been any time to check her phone. Turning it on, there’s immediately a clutter of symbols in the top left corner. With a sigh, she starts scrolling through the notifications; an assorted mingle of school notices, junk mail and instant messages from all kinds of people. Mostly from the group chat from AMS, where Kitty is shouting about the competition preparations.

Quite far down, there’s one from Erik. No premise, just a link and the words _i think you should listen to this_.

Skipping past it, Moira changes into one the soft t-shirts she’d stolen the last time before she does pull it up again and putting her earbuds in.

It, unsurprisingly, turns out to be a mutant led political podcast, and while Moira has had quite her dosage of that over the months, it is calming to listen to voices other than the one in her own head. And while Erik holds more radical beliefs than anyone else she knows, it doesn’t hurt to try and see where he comes from – if only to try and convince him how wrong he is, without resorting to punching him the throat.

Even if the last time she’d done that, it had resulted in whatever it is that they have now.

Tying her wet hair into a bun, her eyes are drawn back to the phone just when the screen lights up with an incoming call. Erik. A quick glance at the clock shows it’s probably too late for whatever it is that he wants.

But, something deep in her stomach wants to. And even if she hadn’t answered six months ago, whatever block there was there before, is now gone. So, taking her phone in hand, she answers.

“Hi.”

She’s a little taken aback when it turns out to be a video call, seeing his face and the wall behind his head. Usually, Erik is against all forms of technological novelties, claiming they gives him headaches, but she finds her footing quick enough to raise an annoyed eyebrow at him.

“It’s late, Erik.”

He’s clearly calling her from his room, if the dark purple wall behind him is any indication. “What about it, McTaggert?” he tells her, grinning at her with all those teeth.

“I have a test tomorrow, you know that,” she tells him, rearranging the pillows behind her back. “I don’t have time for this.”

“If you say so.”

“Really, Erik. I don’t.”

“You know, if you really needed to study so badly, you could just not answer. Or, you know, hang – “

“Fine,” she mutters, and god dammit if he isn’t attractive when he smirks. “What do you want?”

She hates it. Not the smirk per se, but the fact that she is so weak against it.  And in reality, it’s not so much the smirk as it is the fact that he can play her so well, up until a point. He was abysmal in the beginning, surely confused by his own feelings for a _simple baseline_ , and had used that slur excessively around her – until she punched him in the throat and told him to cut it out.

He had, but only to kiss her instead.

“Do you really have to study?” he asks her, voice softer now.

“No,” she sighs, slipping down on her bed. “Don’t think I can do much more now.”

“Fair enough,” he says, leaning back a bit. Through the feed, his headboard and that awful bedside lamp are clearly visible; spilling in a soft orange light over his face. Makes him soften. “Don’t turn that brain of yours to mush. It might come in handy for me someday.”

She rolls her eyes, and Erik laughs. “Fuck off. I’m hanging up.”

He reaches up an arm and tucks it behind his head. “Sure. But can I ask a thing first?”

“What?”

“What are you wearing?”

In the little square in the corner where she can see herself, more than enough of her torso is visible to make out that she’s got clothes on. “You are fortunate and still have two working eyes in your head, Lehnsherr. Use them.”

The damned smirk stays, and he squints a little before sitting back a bit. “Feisty. Is that my shirt?”

She closes her eyes for a second, and once again Erik laughs at her. He really is a pain in the ass, in more ways than one. “Yes. And your boxers.”

That, at least, manages to shut him up for a moment. He isn’t big on facial expressions, but even in that soft light, it’s not hard to tell that his pupils widen.

“Can I come over?” he asks, finally with a softer voice. “It’s not _that_ late yet.”

Moira shakes her head. “No.”

“Hard no?”

“Hard no.”

He nods, and tips his head to the side. It’s the end of it, as always. For being such a notoriously difficult person, Moira has never known anyone who bended as easily to her will as him. In a way, that’s saying something about her.

But perhaps, even more about him.

He scratches his head; the sound travelling through her earbuds. “What were you planning on doing until ten anyways?”

“Masturbate.”

On the other end of the feed, she can both hear and see how Erik drags in a breath between his teeth. “Goddammit, MacTaggert.”

Grinning, feeling a slight flush under her skin, she slides down even further on the bed and spreads her legs. All of it out of Erik’s view. “Wanna watch?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Putting her fingers in her mouth, knowing her lips are one of the many weaknesses the insurmountable Erik Lehnsherr has, Moira shakes her head. To that, Erik really groans and bangs his head against the wall, but his eyes never leave the screen as she drags her fingers down her neck, and down into the boxer shorts.

“You said I could watch,” Erik says, and Moira can’t help but grin at him.

“I never said what.”

He changes his position a bit, the arm behind his head disappearing – she has a bet down that he slipped it into his own underwear – and closes his eyes. “You are so difficult.”

Starting to rub at her clit, Moira sighs a little. “No. You’re easy.”

On her screen, he cracks an eye open. “You won’t even take off your shirt.”

“No. You’ll get my face, nothing else.”

“You really think your sex flush is that attractive?” he says, the grin back in place and yes, he is definitely touching himself as well, obvious in the way his arm is moving. She has half a mind to tell him to stop ( _if only to feel the power rush when he does stop, because he will_ ) but lets him keep at it.

“I know it is.”

“On your chest, maybe,” he says, sounding incredulous. “Not in your face.”

“And you think yours is – _ah_ ” she says, just as she finds the right angle and a moan trips out of her mouth. Damnit.

“It was you who said it,” he counters, and he is on the verge of panting now. “Don’t lie, Taggert.”

“Perhaps.”

For a few moments, she simply focuses of the feeling of her fingers – rubbing and pinching until everything feels heavy and swollen and just this side of uncomfortable. In her ears, she can hear Erik’s laboured breathing, cut staccato and intense. Just where she wants him.

He’s the one who breaks the moment.

“Can I hear you come, at least?” Erik asks, breathless, right into her ears.

Curling her toes in the sheets, Moira smiles at him. “If you’re good.”

“Meaning?”

“Tell me what we’ll do when you come over tomorrow,” she says, as steady as her voice permits.

Erik’s eyebrows go up, but the smirk stays. “I’m coming over tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, before he goes quiet. It’s not for long, but it’s enough for her to start to think she might’ve pushed him into the deep end a bit too fast this time.

But then, “You’ll sit on my face and let me eat you out.”

“True.”

“Until you come.”

“True.”

“You’ll come three times from that, because I know how much you love it,” he says with confidence.

She holds back the laughter in her chest, because the release would undo all her work and kick start an underwhelming orgasm. Instead, she shakes her head.

“No, it’ll be twice, if that, and the second will be lackluster. You know that.”

He sighs, and she smiles. “Will you let me fuck you then?”

“Sure. How?”

At that, he closes his eyes again – his chest stuttering and she knows he’s close. “Like last time. If you let me.”

“I will,” she whispers, and knows Erik’s picturing his own room again, last Wednesday; her on all fours, his hand in her hair and him deep inside her ass. “Just like last time.”

She hears more than sees how his body locks up; that characteristic hitch of breath followed by a low groan. In the feed, his shoulders drops and Moira can’t help but shake her head at how easy he is, after all.

While he’s catching his breath, Moira can feel her body getting tighter as well. It’s that coiled-spring feeling she’s always after, the instability that only takes one right touch to unravel.

In the feed, Erik has cracked open an eye again.

“Close?” he mumbles, barely audible through her earbuds and the rushing of blood in her ears.

She feels herself nodding, hand speeding up. “Yes.”

“You know what?”

“No?”

“I lied. That sex flush looks good on you.”

And it’s so fucking embarrassing, but that fondness in his voice, rare and so damn hard to coax out, is it for her. Thighs shaking and body convulsing, she comes; nearly dropping her phone off the side of the bed and breath coming out in loud pants.

When she can open her eyes again, Erik’s looking back at her; looking drowsy and sated, but still with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly open.

Moira can’t help it. “What?” she asks, drying off her fingers on the stolen boxers.

“You’re beautiful.”

It sounds sincere enough, she guesses. It’s simply that this isn’t anything they do. Or, not often, at least.

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

That, coaxes some of that smirk back and Moira immediately regrets giving him anything. Give Erik Lehnsherr a finger, and he takes the whole fucking hand. As always.

“Tell me more about that.”

Moira raises an eyebrow. “Maybe when you’ve earned it,” she counters, and pulls the covers aside to slip under them.

Erik gives her a look, but he doesn’t say anything else. She can feel a yawn, and doesn’t suppress it.

“So, after tomorrow then?”

“Maybe.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes at her, but somehow, there’s something in it that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. Some of the persona still gone, and Moira basks in it.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Good luck tomorrow. And I’ll see you after.”

Pulling the duvet a bit higher, she nods. “Yeah, you better. Good night, Lehnsherr.”

“Good night, Moira.”

They both scramble a bit, trying to get there first.

Erik hangs up before her. But somehow, it doesn’t really feel like defeat.

 


End file.
